Glass-Breaking Sex


Disclaimer: The characters belong to Paramount, and I make no money from playing with them. 

Note: I'd like to blame someone else for this, but it's all me. It's only my second sex scene ever, but it's the first without a plot built around it. There's no plot here. None whatsoever. And do I really see this happening? Nope. Did I have fun doing it? You betcha. Thanks so much to Ria for the beta and Chesh for the encouragement, as always. Love you both!


Glass-Breaking Sex



We crash into the small dining table in his living area, sending...something...flying with neither one of us giving it so much as a questioning glance. Something cool, a liquid spreads out under the part of my bare back that hits the table, and the smell of the alcohol he’d been drinking when I arrived permeates the air, just as the sound of glass breaking is heard, filling the hot, sheltered air around us.


I’ve never had glass-breaking sex before. Wasn’t entirely sure that anyone did, had decided it was merely the apocryphal embellishments of criminally bored, overly sex-oriented individuals who’d have been better served getting a hobby than thinking up salacious scenarios like that.


I owe them an apology, I think now.


He shifts me effortlessly, getting me into better, more stable position, sending something else tumbling, and then his knee slides up, in between my thighs, swiftly nudging them back apart and then he drives up into me, his way well prepared already. And then he’s fucking me again, powerfully. Masterfully. And I can only really hang on for the ride.


Not something I’m used to, but it’s a nicer change than I’d ever have expected it to be, too. I concentrate on controlling my vocal reactions, on tamping down against the moans of pure approval that want to tear out of my throat. Damned if I’m going to give him the additional satisfaction of wringing them out of me.


My shoulder strikes something else, sends that…something…toppling off of the table as he batters, pounding into me. More glass breaking, and…


That wouldn’t happen on Voyager, I think idly, as his mouth latches onto my neck, and his teeth sink in just to the perfect degree, straddling the perfect line of pain and erotic pleasure, and then his growl of pure lust reverberates off my heated, moistened skin and sends another gush of primal arousal coursing through me, easing his erotic movements even further, and the not-so-soundless gasp that hitches through my throat before I can catch it has him leaning back to survey me through those smoking, hooded eyes.


“Enjoying yourself, Captain?” he half taunts, half seems to genuinely want to know.


And what the hell? Why not? A little honesty between us might be refreshing.


For once.


“Sur…prisingly,” I admit, on the panting exhalation of the breath he’s only just let me catch.


He grins in cat-like, smug satisfaction at my response. Never stopping the delicious, rhythmic movement of his lower body for a second.


I have to admit I hadn’t expected to enjoy myself quite so much.


I have to admit, now that I’ve been so skillfully reminded, that it’s been years since I remembered what enjoying myself really felt like. What letting go and feeling could do for the soul. For the mind and – oh God for the body.


He adjusts me again, edges slightly to the right so that now every single thrust of his cock ends in nerve-electrifying contact with his powerful abdomen and I’m being slid, a fraction of a centimeter with every thrust, further up the smooth, whiskey-lubricated table.


The third or fourth electrifying jostle at the end of his thrust sends me shooting up off the table, sitting upright against him, my legs wrapping around his powerful torso of their own accord, drawing him ever closer into me, my mouth setting just next to his as I pant harsh breaths out of my lips in unison with his, the enemy’s, breaths. Unable to stop myself, not wanting to stop myself from grinding desperately back at him – the enemy – from countering his masterful, tantalizingly brutal thrusts as best I’m able. Well past ready to hasten what I can’t believe but know is going to be a hell of a powerful orgasm – again.


He isn’t satisfied to sit still, seems determined to get me into every and any position physically possible before our forbidden interlude is over. I seem determined to let him. His hands are curling knowingly under my thighs and lifting me clear off the table, holding me against him as he stalks to the much softer bed, and I start to admit to myself that my faintly aching back is going to appreciate the more forgiving change of locale, because I’m just not as young as I used to be, but the fact that he’s still managing to keep his stride, both with his legs and other parts of him as he simply lifts me up and down with each lagging part of his gait gives me a little difficulty formulating the thoughts correctly as my fuller than usual, very stimulated and aroused breasts keep brushing, scraping tantalizingly across his wiry and abundant chest hair. And instead of throwing me down, on my back, where I’ve been for most of the past hour in some form or another, he spins at the last minute, dropping onto his back, lying against the small black pillows mounding at the top of his huge, black silk-sheeted bed and setting me atop, astride him.


And now he’s waiting. Patiently, it seems, a lubricious smile decorating those full lips I’ve already licked, bitten, nipped sore.


It takes a minute, because he’s taken me by surprise. But, ah. He’s finally letting me take control. For once. I’d stopped really trying that after about the first ten minutes…when he’d made it clear he wasn’t nearly ready for it and that I didn’t need to be concerned about his ability to direct the show.


That I didn’t need to be even remotely concerned about his ability to direct it to satisfying ends for the both of us - and then further - that I was enjoying not having to.


But now he’s finally ready to give over. To let me show him what I’ve got, so to speak. Must have worn him out.


And I’m licking my lips at the mere sight of him, splayed out with arms resting over his head, too far descended into the haze of sin and lust, and damned if he isn’t a very well built and beautiful man, I think again. I’m not usually that impressed by physical beauty. But I have to admit that his physique…isn’t in question. He is an attractive–


His cocky smile is forming again, as arousing as it is irritating as he catches me watching him, sees what I’m thinking as I watch him, and then I don’t need any further encouragement than that to start back up the frantic pace he’d set for us earlier, either. My eyes find his, deep portals of glittering black, and I let myself sink into them, even as I sink onto him, slide into those molten pools of lust and try to remember what the hell I’m doing here. Hell, as I try to remember what my own damn name is.


I’m fucking him for the ship, I tell myself again.


This is only for the


“Oh. God.” That didn’t last long. He changes the angle, now, his hands splayed out on my lower back sliding up over my arms to my shoulders, tipping me forward so that he can pull me down, and can pull a begging nipple into his hot, eager mouth, and the words are ripped from my throat, tearing me completely out of sync with my own thoughts. No room for thoughts here. Not with him. He gives me half a second to process, to get used to the new thrill of sensation of his tongue working over my nipple, to the pure arousal it send directly between my legs before he leans back, his hands, fingers replacing his mouth and he uses my breasts as handholds to push deeper, drive even harder up into me. Harder than I’m used to. Not quite that side of painfully so. Certainly much harder than I’d ever have sought to be held, taken, but I can’t deny one thing about him, what is, undeniably, his saving grace…


He doesn’t fumble.


“No, not…God,” he grunts through his impressive exertion. Managing to draw me partially out of my passion-induced haze, making me work to remember what I’d said to prompt his qualification. Grinning up at me, all the while. “I’m just…that…good , Kathryn.”


I can’t help but laugh. Low, deep in my throat, and genuinely amused at the depths of his arrogance.


He’s just that right, too.


“I rather think you’re the devil, Kashyk,” I tell him honestly. Moving as urgently against him as I physically, possibly can. Seeking the release, the melting bliss hovering just at the edge of my grasp.


“Then you must be a witch,” he growls back immediately. Holding his own even as his cock does. “Because no one…has ever affected me…the way that you do.”


“Was that...a confession?” I drawl lightly – now, while I’m still able to. Because he’s got me on the verge of yet another orgasm, and I’m not going to be talking for very much longer.


I’ve lost time of the amount of times he’s already made me come. I’ve already been fucked raw, have bruises on my back. My knees, and hips. My thighs, from where he’s held them open, spreading them ever wider so that he could drive his massive, erect organ straight into me, as deep as physically possible – and then some.


And yet I’ve never been wetter in my life. Still, now. Three? Four? powerful orgasms into this feeding frenzy we’ve become, I’m slick and ready and taking his throbbing, powerful cock deeper into me than I think I should be able to, and there’s already no question that I’ll have trouble walking properly when this is over, and we go our separate ways and never see each other again. But now, for the first time this evening, he’s allowing me to take the lead – sort of – and I still want to make sure he knows what he’s been missing all this time. I push back at him. Taking his hands from my breasts, and pinning them down next to his head, all the while setting a newer pace, now that he’s lost his leverage to countermove against me, a pace that’s meant to be as much teasing as it is fulfilling, drawing out the next moment of blood-tingling bliss that’s about to come crashing down onto both of us any second now. Squeezing him tightly inside of me, rhythmically increasing the pressure on his cock as he slides in and out of me and reveling in the ecstatic drop of his lower jaw as he arches his back in tortured pleasure. Hissing low.


Gaharay witch,” he growls, gazing up at me through hooded eyes even as he surrenders to my control. Allowing me to continue directing the pace, despite the powerful, visceral compulsion I can see flashing in them not to.


“Devore bastard,” I hiss lazily back, without losing stride. Somehow.


The words alone should be taboo here, should be enough to stop me right in my tracks, stop him in his, but somehow, nothing is taboo between us. Not now, not tonight it isn’t. Tonight, they only enhance the forbidden aura of what we’re doing, make our coupling that much more potent, that much more erotic and more…


Satisfying, somehow. God, is this the most satisfying…


I ease myself up higher, my thighs trembling from the effort but, uncaring, I hold the new elevation, making him work for what he wants. For what we both want. 


And waiting for him to break.


Witch,” he swears again. Realizing. “You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?”


Yes, my triumphant, slow smile must tell him as I arch my own back and continue riding him at the shallow, restrictive height I’ve introduced. And when he breaks within seconds, unable to restrain himself and grabbing my hips, forcing me down lower and skewering me on his magnificent cock, I forget everything but the impending climax building as his pounding, near-frantic motions cause his shaft to brush directly against my throbbing and swollen clit with each stroke.


How I’m going to live with myself, after this, I’m not entirely sure, but as his hot, well-slickened cock hammers up into me, building speed into heat with pistoning friction, I don’t much care in this instant. Why the hell I’ve been denying myself this, this primal, most basic of pleasures escapes me right now, and I don’t think I’ll be perpetuating that cosmic mistake any longer, even once we’re finished and I return to my ship and he has passed on into the black night and disappeared from my life forever.


Kashyk may be a brutal, lying and dangerous bastard when he’s not with me, but he’s at least opened my eyes to so many mistakes this night…


His hand snakes up my inner thigh, his fingers reaching their target with precision and no margin of error, and then my head is thrown back of its own accord, my hands going to either side of his broad, animalistic chest to brace myself for the impending cascade of molten pleasure exploding inside of me.


It’s for the ship, I tell myself again, in the last moment of coherence before shattering into a million blissful pieces. It’s only for the




She squeezes me inside of her, tightening her slick inner muscles in a delightfully wicked, calculated rhythm that may well drive me mad, and I see through the slits of her eyes that she intends it. That her aim is to torture, to dominate me for as long as I let her. It’s exciting her, giving her pleasure. Just as being taken this past hour, without pause or apology or regard for her preferences has done the same for her all evening.  And I’d guessed right. She’d needed it.


But fair is fair, I decide. She will have her say, too. I resolve to let her take control.


It lasts about ten glorious seconds before I break. My wrists push up against her hands, freeing themselves from her firm hold, and then all I need is the leverage of my hands curling into the flesh, pressing down into the bones of her slender hips and she’s mine again. At least now, this afternoon, she belongs to me. Only me.


I pound my frustration, my need and explosive longing, and yes, some of my anger into her hot and eager body, and she arches in ecstasy, her hands scrambling at the sheets on either side of my shoulders, trying in vain to find leverage of her own, but I’m not letting her. Harder, deeper I pound, and then I manage to half hiss, half growl out the question again before I lose myself, as well.


“Still doing this for the ship, Kathryn?”


There’s a taunting undertone to the question. An arrogance that’s so ingrained in me, and that I’m half certain is what really attracts her to me. And that I’m still, just barely managing to retain through the exquisite torture of her astride me.


She doesn’t appear to hear me this time, and it’s more erotic than any response on her part might have been, I find. Her, this lost in the euphoria I’m driving her to. Her head falls back, and her mouth drops open even as her eyes slide shut. I can feel the tightening tension gathering in her body. Can sense the impending release I’m driving towards with each brutal and punishing upward thrust I’m making into her body, bouncing her wildly above me, even off of me as she struggles just to hold on and I’m watching through half-hooded eyes her lovely breasts shaking in response to every powerful thrust of my lower body against hers.  The rhythmic movement of her, the feel of her soft white body all around me, in my hands and squeezing me inside of her, dragging me down, under her spell, and then an even more powerful release than any she’s already wrung from me explodes through my body with such force, such power that I would swear my vision blackens as her own pleasure peaks, sending me spiraling out of control. And the roar that’s ripped out of my throat, possibly from the very depths of my soul, must rock the entire ship on its axis.


And for long, eternal moments more, as my grip relaxes and she slumps down over me, against me, her soft, wisping breaths sounding against my chest and neck, I know nothing but the sensation, the oddly reassuring, safe notion that in this instant, it is I who belongs entirely, completely, to her.


The oaf should thank me. When she leaves me tonight, she will pass through and out of my life forever. And unless I never really knew this woman at all, I believe she will finally go to him. Has realized what she has denied herself all these years, what she has deprived the two of them of through her relentless, superhuman and self-imposed isolation.


When she leaves me tonight, I do not believe she will go straight to her own bed. She will make a stop first. One she should have made long ago, one he should have made long ago.


Idiot. Absolute idiot. He’s not worthy of her.


Then again…neither am I.


It’s her choice. And her choice, despite what the two of us have engaged in here, is him. I have no delusions about that. Even if she has until now.


My arms come around her slight, now-trembling frame to crush her to me. To savor these last moments while she is mine. And I think I can feel her smile against my skin as I press my lips close to tenderly into the top of her head, inhaling deeply of her unique fragrance while her hair tickles at my nostrils. I will miss that, when she’s gone. More keenly than I care to admit to myself. Still…


“Are you sorry you came?” I ask. Wanting – needing – to know.


She shifts to move off of me, and I reluctantly let her situate herself along my side. Pleased that she still permits the closeness of throwing one leg over me, if only for comfort’s sake. She leans back on one arm and doesn’t bother restraining herself from tracing small, soft lines over the muscles of my chest with the other as she does so. She smiles.


Answer enough.